


Two Time Travelers Walk Into A Bar...

by irismay42



Category: 12 Monkeys (TV), Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 02:11:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9413126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irismay42/pseuds/irismay42
Summary: "Jeez, not this guy again..." Wyatt Logan and James Cole have issues. Oneshot. Complete. Not quite sure where this came from. No spoilers in particular. Set somewhere within Timeless's first six episodes (as that's all I've seen!) and early season 2 12 Monkeys.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: T  
> Words: 1600  
> Spoilers: Nothing specific, vaguely for early season 2 of 12 Monkeys, early season 1 Timeless.  
> Warnings: Minor language.  
> Summary: "Jeez, not this guy again..." Wyatt Logan and James Cole have issues.  
> Disclaimer: Everything is owned by someone else.  
> A/N: I don't even know what this is or where it came from. We're only up to episode 6 of Timeless in the UK, so this is probably already Kripked (haven't used that term in a long time!) Written in Yank. Trying very hard to fight the compulsion to add an extra 'l' in the title.

** TWO TIME TRAVELERS WALK INTO A BAR... **

 

“Jeez, not _this_ guy again.”

Wyatt took a pull of his Jack Daniels, turned up the collar of his coat and yanked down the brim of his fedora in the forlorn hope the newcomer might not see him.

No such luck.

A none-too-gentle hand clapped him on the shoulder as the other guy swung himself up onto the next barstool along.

“Hey, what are the odds?” the newcomer said with a grin.  “You.  Me.  1949.”

Wyatt sighed.  “James Cole.  We've gotta stop meeting like this.”

“Wyatt Logan,” Cole returned.  “Stop screwing around in my timeline and with any luck we might.”

“Promises, promises,” Wyatt muttered as the other guy waved over the bartender.

“Whiskey sour,” he said, before inclining his head in Wyatt’s direction, “and whatever my friend’s having.”

“Not your friend,” Wyatt mumbled from the bottom of his raised glass.

Cole squinted at him, a look of fake hurt on his face.  “Anyone ever tell you you're real passive aggressive?” he asked.

“Nope,” Wyatt returned.  “I'm _actually_ aggressive.  Anyone ever tell you what ‘passive aggressive’ actually means?  ‘Cause those are some mighty big words for a little guy like you.”

Cole snorted at that, which made Wyatt even more intent on punching him in the face.  “You really know how to hurt a guy’s feelings.”

Wyatt sighed again, scanning the bar for any sign of Lucy or Rufus showing up to rescue him from this nutjob.  “So where’s your grumpy back-stabbing boyfriend?” he asked, returning Cole’s fake smile with one of his own.

“Probably making out with _your_ grumpy back-stabbing boyfriend,” Cole shot back, downing his drink in one go and tipping his head in the direction of the bartender, indicating he wanted another.

I mean, seriously?  Whiskey sours?  Who even _drank_ that stuff?

Wyatt toyed with the shot of bourbon the bartender had put in front of him at Cole’s request that he hadn't even started on yet.  The guy could drink, he'd give him that.  Even if he _was_ a delusional psychopath.

Because no way in _hell_ a virus was taking them all out in a couple of years.

If this guy was from 2044 then Wyatt was from Mars.

And that Red Forest crap?

Jeez.  The guy must think Wyatt was an idiot.

“So what are you up to, soldier boy?” Cole asked suddenly, and Wyatt squinted at him.

“What's it to _you_ , Time Jesus?” Wyatt returned.

Cole ground his teeth.  Audibly.  “Who the hell told you…?” he began to ask.

Wyatt threw him a slightly more sincere grin this time.

“Goddammit, Ramse…” Cole muttered, shaking his head.

Wyatt snickered.  Yeah, so it was totally childish of him, but anything he could do to grind this asshole’s gears was so worth Lucy going all schoolmarm on him later.  “I think you suck at saving the world, by the way,” he added.

Cole snorted again.  “What would _you_ know about saving the world, pretty boy?” he asked.  “I hear you're a worse assassin than Wile E. Coyote with an anvil.”

It was Wyatt’s turn to squint.  “I thought you were from the Apocalypse?” he demanded.  “You get to watch cartoons in the Apocalypse?  How does that work?”

Cole positively glowered at him.  “I've been doing this a lot longer than you, Junior,” he said.  “I've seen a hundred years’ worth of hotel room TV.”

“Junior?” Wyatt echoed.  “I thought you said you were born in 2009?  By my reckoning that makes me about 26 years older than you.”

“You know, for a time traveler, you're real goddamn _linear_!”

“And you're a delusional mental patient.  I checked.  Last year you busted out of J.D. Peoples, right?”

Game, set and...

“Yeah, well your time machine sucks.”

“Nice comeback, asshole.  What are you, six?”

“In your time, actually I'm eight.”

Wyatt sat up straighter.  “And you’ve never even _seen_ our time machine!”

Cole grinned at him.  “Wanna bet?” he challenged.  “It's not exactly stealthy, man.  Kinda looks like that Star-Tunnel-Gate-thing from that 90s TV show.”

“As opposed to your apparently invisible time machine that conveniently only exists in the future so you never actually have to _prove_ it exists?”

“Mine has cool flashing lights and shit.”

“And is killing you a little every time you use it.”

“That's fixed now.”

“And why do you people have to say ‘shit’ every other sentence?  Seriously.   Anyone would think that's the only curse word you're allowed to use.”

“Hey, at least we’re allowed to _use_ curse words.”

Wyatt shifted in his seat.  “I curse.”

“When?  Give me one example.  And ‘hell’ doesn't count.”

“Asshole.  You want me to use that in a sentence for you?”

“You mean like, ‘that asshole with the really lame time machine who’s a lousy shot and believes he can only time travel outside of his own lifetime’?”

“We _can_ only time travel outside of our own lifetime!”

“You know that's total bullshit, right?  Who even _told_ you that?  Wait till you've paradoxed yourself, then tell me you can't travel in your own lifetime.”

“No such thing as a paradox.”

“Says who?”

“Rufus.”

“Your _driver_?”

“Our _pilot_.  And he's a scientist.”

“I bet he uses words that are a little bit too big for _you_ , huh?”

Wyatt had just about had enough of this.  “Look, what's your problem, man?”

Cole jumped off of the barstool at this point and was suddenly in Wyatt’s face.

“Oh, I don't know,” he said, “maybe it's how you keep trying to stop Leland Goines from _dying_.  You know.  The guy who unleashes a _plague_ that kills seven billion people.”

“Not this again!” Wyatt burst out.  “Leland Goines didn't _die_.  You _murdered_ him!  That wasn't supposed to happen!”

“Exactly what part of ‘kills seven billion people’ don't you get?”

It was Wyatt’s turn to jump down off the barstool, and he had at least three inches on Cole, so could do a pretty good job of looming over him.

Cole, however, didn't seem particularly intimidated.

Short guys.  Go figure.

“My job,” Wyatt said slowly, as if he was speaking to a seven-year-old, “is to _preserve_ history, not destroy it.”

Cole shook his head.  “Do you have _any_ idea who you're working for?”

“For the last time, I am _not_ working for Rittenhouse…”

“Rittenhouse, Markridge, the Army of the Twelve Monkeys—they're all in this together, you idiot!”

“Killing Leland Goines didn't change anything!” Wyatt pointed out.  “You said so yourself!”

“But it made a _difference_!” Cole said.  “Eventually.  His daughter is a lot—a little—kinda easier to deal with.”

“But everyone still dies in your future, right?”

“Not everyone.  More people survive now.  And I hate to break it to you, pal, but it’s _your_ future, too.”

Wyatt shook his head emphatically.  “Not my future.  We’re saving the world from nutjobs like you—”

“By trying to save nutjobs like Leland Goines?  Why would your bosses want you to save someone like him?”

Wyatt shrugged.  _Good question…_

Cole nodded slowly.  “Good soldier boy.  Just following orders.”

“Okay, look,” Wyatt said, taking a breath.  “Maybe we stay away from Leland Goines in the future—the past—whatever.  But you need to stay out of our way too.  You’ve stopped me killing Garcia Flynn just as often as we’ve tried to stop you killing Leland Goines.”

Cole sighed.  “You guys just don’t get it.  Flynn’s the _good guy_.”

“Says you.  From our point in time, he’s the bad guy.”

Wyatt wasn’t sure whether Cole looked defeated or just resigned to the inevitable.  “Time will judge us all,” he said, and when Wyatt squinted at him, he added, “My boss.  She’s kinda poetic for a scientist.”

“So we’ll agree to disagree?” Wyatt prompted him.

Cole looked at him for a long moment, didn’t say anything, just looked.

And then a thought hit him.

“You know what happens to me, don’t you?” Wyatt said.  “In the future.”

Cole shifted awkwardly, averting his eyes and conspicuously failing to answer.

“Do I die?  In this—this plague?”  This plague Wyatt didn’t believe actually happened.

Cole shrugged.  “Doesn’t work out so good when we know our own future,” he said.  “Once you know it, you try to change it, then things…tend to get out of control.”

He almost sounded like he was speaking from experience.

Wyatt didn’t push him further.  Cole was probably right.  He wasn’t sure he was ready to know the exact time, date and method of his own death.

“Listen,” Cole threw a couple of bills down onto the bar.  Wyatt wasn’t sure whether it was enough to cover the cost of the drinks, but Cole seemed to know his way around the 1940s pretty good.  “Let’s leave it at that.  I’ll stay out of your way if you stay out of mine.  And if we bump into each other in 1985 or something we’ll buy each other a drink and go watch _Back to the Future_ together.”

Wyatt frowned at him.  “Can’t go to 1985,” he said.

Cole rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, yeah.  Within your lifetime.  I get it.”  He smiled lopsidedly.  “You should try it sometime.  Might surprise yourself.”

With that he turned to leave, just as Wyatt called after him, “You here with the hot blonde?”

Cole didn’t turn around.  “Depends.  You here with the hot brunette?”

Wyatt snorted and downed the rest of his bourbon.

“Next time, soldier boy.”

And Wyatt was pretty sure Cole winked out of existence even before he made it to the door.

Yeah, okay.  He had to admit, disappearing into thin air was a _way_ cooler way to time travel.

 

**The end**

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
